Scars
by ForeverandNevermore
Summary: Originally titled: Blood, Tears, and Vodka. Alcoholism never bothered Maxie, AKA Matsu before. But with the trauma that is Archie, he just may go insane. Rated T for Alcohol usage, language, and slight sexual implications.


**A/N:** Hey! Foreverandnevermore here, with the debut of my first song fic! YAY! Incendetly, this is also the second MatsuXAo (MaxieXArchie) on Fanfiction. If you're confused with this, then I have to say that this is an epilogue to the currently-being-written Fic, 'Sink or Swim.'

Oh, and I don't own Papa Roach, the original composer and if I owned Pokemon, there would be more yaoi in it.

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_I'm drunk and I'm feelin' down and I just want to be alone_

_I'm pissed 'cause you came around; Why don't you just go home?_

'_Cause I channeled all your pain and I can't help you fix yourself_

_You're making me insane; all I can say is…_

The empty bottle of vodka drops to the floor but only rolls on the concrete. I sigh heavily and pick it up, slamming it on the desk.

How could this happen to me?

I run my hands through my hair, grasping the roots tightly through clenched fists. My arms instinctively pull back and the fists release, turning into claws to rake my face. The claws turn into limp appendages as I collapse on the cherry surface. I dryly sob into these…how did he say it? 'Loving weapons?' Who the hell cares anymore? I'm tired of caring. Nothing matters.

I look up through blurry eyes, swearing I heard a knock on the door. 'Go the hell away,' I think bitterly. I'm never helping anyone anymore. I should be like that fool from Sinnoh…Cyrus, was it? Emotionless fool. But he's so right. Kindness. Compassion. _Love._ Useless feelings of the weak human heart.

Maybe it's because my BAL is so above average that even the most accomplished drunkard would hurl? Not that I'm not used to alcohol. I used to have a constantly high BAL. Eventually, I stopped. But that was the past. What reason do I have not to drink? It could be worse. I could be a cutter a drug addict, or…god knows, a sex addict. So why is it a crime to indulge in a few…alright, several, drinks in a domestic setting? They call it unhealthy. Would they rather I blood let? I'm sure they, he especially, would get a kick out of me committing suicide from blood loss. That is, right before throwing my body into the ocean. Or maybe chopping me up into little pieces and feeding me to the Murkrows? But why the hell should I care? I'd be dead! If anyone's to be hurt, it's him. And I think he should feel as much pain as I absorbed from him. My revenge in death. How gruesome.

_I tried to help you once; I guess we're all advised_

_I saw you going down, but you never realized_

_That you're drowning in the water, so I offered you my hand,_

_Compassion's in my nature, tonight is our last stand_

The rain hits the window, I know, but it feels like water-drip torture. But then again, water is the source of all torture. And life. How ironic. So, is that godforsaken team designed to torture or to resurrect? Trick question; it's neither. It's to torment. Not torture, torture is too violent. But tormenting! These mental deaths I've had are nothing compared to what they have in store for me.

Perhaps it's paranoia? But, of course, then I would have been too busy watching myself to see his defeat. So why, why did I help? Archenemy or best friend? Why should I choose? Why should I have to? Why, though, did I offer my help? Why did he accept it?

Help. Not in the normal senses, those of financial and power. No. What was it? Companionship? Perhaps I was a backup plan. Perhaps…no, that's it. I'm a pawn. A toy in this game. But of course, you can get my implications by 'toy.' But tonight…

It's probably my fault. I'm too weak. I care too much. They, that damned school, they tried to force it out of me. But I resisted, didn't I? And they, they being the people, the mindless people, cannot see this; they call me a criminal. A criminal? A warlord? I don't have what it takes to be a dictator. I'm too benevolent. I'm to compassionate-to him. The damned deceiver, I fell for his traps. He used me. Abused me. And I'm going to get revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge. Tonight, one of us will fall.

_I'm drunk and I'm feelin' down and I just want to be alone_

_You should've never come around; why don't you just go home?_

'_Cause you're drowning in the water and I tried to grab your hand_

_I left my heart open, but you didn't understand_

There's a knock on the door. I stand and throw the bottle at it violently. It mumbles something incoherent.

"Piss off!" I scream, glaring as hatefully as one can glare at an inanimate object. The door falls silent. But this lights a spark.

The spark turns into a small flame. It is my fault. And I'm going to pay for it. I screwed up so badly that I'm being punished. It cannot be self-punishment; I'm not evil enough for that. The angry Gods are trying to destroy me. Why?

I simply cannot be human. No human willingly tears their heart open to let someone in. No human lets it infect, flapping open while the others gorge upon it.

_Go fix yourself_

I smile. I get it now. I can't fix anyone. Why do I even bother? The smile spreads wider. Why can't they just fix themselves?

I clench my fist more tightly, the neck of that bottle moaning under the pressure. But I didn't even realize it was there.

_I can't help you fix yourself but at least I can say I tried_

_I'm sorry, but I gotta move on with my own life_

The door bursts open as the bottle bursts apart, droplets of vodka and glass shards flying everywhere in a two foot radius, nestling themselves into my hand and feeding upon my flesh with their acid.

I turn to see the intruder. Tabitha rushes in. The spark that had blazed into a fire has now burned into cinders. The Gods would never use him as a proxy. Never. Perhaps this is masochism. What an odd sight I imagine he sees; me, smiling maniacally as blood drips from my hand and the last of a perfectly good beverage spills on the floor.

"Boss, are you okay?"

But I won't answer. I can't answer. I just laugh. Laugh psychotically and stare. Stare at the three essences of my soul combine in a puddle on the floor.

Blood, tears, and vodka.

_I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut_

_My weakness is that I care too much_

_And our scars remind me that the past is real_

_I tear my heart open just to feel_

_

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**A/N: **Um. yeah. So, if you liked it, by all means tell me. Especially if you want to hear 'Sink or Swim. Because I just may abandon it.

Oh, and feel free to tell me Tabitha's gender. Because I really don't know.


End file.
